


The Harthwaite Demons

by scathach124



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: BAMFs, Demons, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Matthew and Tom being lovable jerks with each other, Monsters, Supernatural Elements, Violence, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scathach124/pseuds/scathach124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a normal journey to a hidden little town, complete with a few snapshots of ghostly creatures. But, unsurprisingly for Tom and Matthew, things take a more disturbing turn when they discover nothing is what it seems underneath a gloomy church. What the adventure involves next include two missing children, a mysterious stone circle, and plenty of nasty monsters. </p>
<p>But Matthew and Tom have encountered unpleasant creatures before – they know how to handle themselves when surrounded by monsters out of fairy-tales and horror stories. The real problem comes when dealing with the thing behind it all …</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Crypt Under the Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is an AU fic where Matthew and Tom are a duo of thrill-seeking monster photographers who also, more often than not, hunt said monsters. If that sounds like a Supernatural premise, I can assure that I have not seen a single episode of that show, although I would very much like to. I'm simply rolling with this weird idea that came to me suddenly. It's quite fun to imagine Tom and Matthew being complete goofs with each other like brothers (I suppose that's where the term 'bromance' comes from).
> 
> (Written for Yankee Countess's Tom x Matthew Bromance Day).

"Matthew, I swear on everything that is holy, if you're reading that map wrong, I will shove you into the boot, and it still smells like onions from last week," Tom griped, gritting his teeth.

Matthew chuckled, but he took a glance at the map across his lap, just in case. The boot did smell rather pungent (that is a story for another time, however). "I'm  _fairly_ certain we're on the last stretch of road until the parish church."

"'Fairly' certain? We've been going in circles since we left St. Ive, and I've been staring at the same damn asphalt for hours."

"Tom, if I were you, I would not be the one to complain," Matthew said. "Or was it not  _you_  who decided to answer that anonymous caller tipping us off about some supposed ghosts haunting an old parish church?"

Tom gave Matthew a malevolent glare out of the corner of his eye. "Where are we, if you wouldn't mind doing your job?"

"Styx road, Harthwaite, Cornwall," Matthew read off. "Look carefully, I think the left turn for the church is up ahead."

Tom briefly turned on the high beams, though he hadn't seen any other vehicles for at least half an hour, so he wasn't in danger of blinding another driver. Making the turn at the sign saying 'Harthwaite Church,' he had to slow down almost immediately to avoid the ditch on one side of the path. The road was in sore need of maintenance, going by how violently the car bumped and jolted. The car was forced to slow to a crawl, continuing on a dark path until Tom nearly drove it head-on into a stone wall.

"Bloody hell, Tom, don't say that the wall just jumped out in front of us," Matthew exclaimed.

"I can't see a damn thing, even with the headlamps," Tom reasoned.

It  _was_  darker than either of them had expected it to be. There was a full moon tonight, but the clouds levitated in front of it periodically, casting everything in shadow. Tom and Matthew had encountered nights such as this one many times before, but they had been driving through the most isolated parts of Cornwall, and neither of them could recall the last time they had seen an electric light.

Matthew pulled out a torch from the glovebox, rolled down the window, and waved the torch around. The ray of light bounced off various stone blocks, which, judging by the shape, were most likely headstones. The churchyard sat at the bottom of a slope, against which stood the church in its Neo-Gothic glory, flanked on one side by a smattering of trees.

"I suppose we've made it – Harthwaite Church," Matthew said. "The village is down the road we were just on. Think we should turn back and find someplace to sleep?"

"We're here, aren't we?" Tom noted. "Might as well scout the place out."

"Agreed, but we shouldn't stay long," Matthew said. "It's nearly midnight."

Both men climbed out of the car, and Tom immediately shuddered. For a night in early autumn, the cold was uncanny, but Tom reckoned that the chill had little to do with the weather. He had this innate sense whenever he came across a place where ghosts or other, more corporeal, creatures were likely lurking about. This age-worn church looked like a typical place for the supernatural to be hanging about. Tom only hoped that what they found, if they encountered anything at all, would not be unfriendly.

Matthew reached into the backseat for his knapsack. The camera, which had the ability to photograph "impossible things," jostled amongst other random articles, including two compact handguns used only in the most grim emergencies. Both men began the walk up the stone steps to the churchyard, the dark stone structure looked rather more like an imperious castle than a diminutive parish church.

"Lovely place," Matthew said cheerily. "Isn't that nice, there's even a full moon, see? There better not be any werewolves in those woods, I can't remember how many silver bullets we have left."

"Matthew — perhaps we  _should_ wait until tomorrow," Tom said, trying to keep down the nervousness that he was feeling. It was dangerously dark, even with the two of them waving torches about, and this was the type of murkiness that more aggressive monsters liked to hide in, waiting until the most opportune moment to seize the prey in their vicinity. When he had accepted the anonymous tip, he had only been warned of spectres worth photographing, not anything else – unless the unknown caller wanted them dead. It would not be the first time that had occurred.

Matthew grinned. "Tom, don't tell me  _you're_  getting scared now," he teased. "I doubt there are actually any werewolves in the woods."

"You said that about Leeds, and you nearly got bitten by one," Tom pointed out.

Matthew shrugged. "I nearly get bitten by a lot of things." He observed the exterior of the church, which was growing larger as they approached it. "I wonder if there's a crypt someplace; that'd be a good place to start."

"Oh God, Matthew," Tom said, recognizing this as one of the rare times when Matthew got more animated about ghosts than he did.

"What?" Matthew said, smiling at Tom's exasperation. "Do you think something nasty will be down there? A wraith? Couple of ghouls? Vampires?"

Tom gave Matthew a small shove. "Stop reminding me about Highgate – this place reminds me of that."

"Oh? Is wittle Branson still fwightened of the vampire bats?" Matthew said in a ridiculous, mock-baby voice. "Afraid that they'll suck you dry in the middle of the night?"

"Considering that, again, you were  _this_  close," Tom began, spreading his thumb and index finger a millimetre apart, "to being bitten, yes, I am still afraid. So, can the both of us avoid getting close to anything with sharp teeth for once?"

Matthew smirked; he poked fun at Tom constantly, usually making their most treacherous adventures the subject of his joking. Tom knew that Matthew meant well, but that did not stop him from worrying for the both of them.

They arrived at the steps below the church doors. Tom jumped up a bit to see through the high windows as Matthew raised the thick iron knocker and let it clang against the wood.

"I don't think there's anyone inside," Tom said.

Matthew pressed one ear against the door and let the knocker fall again. "It does sound like there's some reverberation. What day is it, anyway?"

"Not Sunday morning, for sure," Tom said. "If there's no one inside to let us come in, what do we do?"

This was a purely rhetorical questions. Both men knew the answer, and said it in perfect syncopation. "Break in!"

It was not the first time they had forced their way into a church, and they plodded around the perimeter in search of a back door. It was, not surprisingly, locked tight, but that wouldn't stall either of them – they had multiple methods for breaking-and-entering. That might sound rather criminal of them, but they never cared about stealing anything, except for the images of particular spectres. Within a few minutes, they were inside the dim, gelid church.

It was not a spectacular interior, merely charming in the muted decorations, but what bothered Tom was how astonishingly frigid it was. It must have been several degrees colder than outside; his breath could only just be seen in a cloud in front of him. Not to mention the fact that it was as dark as a tomb, and the shadows the torchlight was casting resembled some of the creatures that he and Matthew had previously encountered. Churches were alright in the daytime, but at night – in the dark they were foreboding places, and the one he in now was sending a wretched chill down his spine. Perhaps he was sensing the danger that was waiting for them around the corner or beneath the stone floor.

"Tom, over here," Matthew said, pointing his torch on another door. The brass plaque was inscribed with, "Crypts: Underground level."

Tom groaned. "Matthew, I'm not sure that's even remotely a good idea."

"What's wrong? You practically pushed me out the door after that phone call, and now you want to turn back?" Matthew nudged the door handle, and it gave a little. "If there's something down there that may be corporeal, we'll make a run for it, but so far there's nothing up here. Frankly, I'm starting to wonder if that caller wasn't setting us up for trouble."

The door creaked open, and Matthew flashed his light across the precarious stone steps. The descent was slow-going, as both men were wary of tripping and subsequently breaking a neck or a few ribs. These stairs were likely used infrequently, as dust was gathering in the corners and there was an acid odour emanating from the bottom. Even Matthew couldn't repress a shudder.

"If there isn't actually a ghost down here, I'm going to put in a note to whoever the caretaker of this place is, and kindly request that they get that smell sorted out," Matthew groused. "That is, if there is even a caretaker."

Tom shivered, but not on the part of the cold, which was intensifying the further down they went. He began to think of the possible fates of the church – did the people of Harthwaite still pray here, or was it merely a stony husk, inhabited by ghosts of the figurative and literary sense? Even if there were no actually spirits, what had occurred here that made the church so foreboding? Once they got into the village, Tom was bent on asking anyone the secrets of the place, even if there was some unspeakable misfortune or a blood-curdling tale to go alone with it.

"End of the line," Matthew announced. "Is the camera ready?"

"Locked and loaded," Tom said, holding it up.

"Excellent," Matthew said. "Let's start the search."

The two rays of torchlight hit dark walls that surrounded the crypts. The area was almost as wide as the church above, and it maybe extended further. As Matthew and Tom treaded down the corridor, their steps echoing eerily throughout, they began to come across oblong slabs of stone, some newer than others, regal lettering spelling out an incomprehensible language. Most likely Latin, Tom thought, though he did not know more than a half a dozen words in that tongue. He did, however, recognize the words  _mortem_  – death – and  _umbra_  – shadow or darkness. Even though the inscriptions were nothing paranormal, Tom snapped some photos of the words, intending to translate them as soon as he found an internet connection.

"Find anything good yet?" Tom called out to Matthew.

No answer.

"Matthew?" Tom stiffened, waving the torch around frenetically. He listened for a sound, but apart from his own breathing, there was little to be heard.

"Shit! Matthew, if this is some joke – if you're going to jump out behind me – you're going to regret it!" He ran in his mind all of the punishments he could put Matthew through, starting with stuffing him into the onion-smelling boot.

Tom tried to think back to when he was examining the words on the large slabs. Was it possible that he had ignored a critical sound? It wasn't likely – the silence down here was pervasive. If something had made a noise, it would be difficult to turn a deaf ear to the echo. Tom reconsidered the notion that Matthew was trying to scare him. It wouldn't be the first time, or even the hundredth time, but they had a task at hand, so why would —

Tom felt the low growl in his ear before he heard it, and the hair on the back of his neck bristled. His lower back arched and his muscles tensed as the soft growl escalated into an aggressive hiss not unlike that of an irate vampire. A split-second of terror-induced paralysis, then Tom spun around, his backfist attack nearly coming into contact with Matthew's head. The latter man doubled up in maniacal laughter, while Tom glared furiously at his partner.

"You – you scared the living daylights out of me!" he exclaimed. "What the hell was that for?"

Matthew was still cackling, acknowledging Tom's annoyance with a boyish smile. "Sorry, mate – I couldn't resist."

Tom had to wait for his adrenaline levels to go down before he could say or do anything else. Bloody hell, this place was really getting to him; he thought he was going to have a heart attack when Matthew hissed in his ear, all because he was convinced that there was something malicious skulking about.

"Matthew, I really do think we ought to go," Tom said, gulping. "I'm not bailing because I'm being a coward. There's something here, at this church – I can feel it."

"Feel it? How?" Matthew, sensing the panic in Tom's voice, was starting to get a little uneasy himself.

"It's in the air. There's no bloody way it can be this cold in the middle of September. Besides that, the church _feels_  abandoned, but these stones — er, Matthew?" Tom stopped in the middle of his sentence, observing as the other man proceeded to push against one of the stone slabs.

"What are you doing, and why?" Tom inquired.

"Argh – if there's something supernatural down here, then it has to do with these sarcophagi – ow, that's rough," Matthew grunted, pushing away what Tom now realized was the thin lid to what was obviously a tomb. Placing the camera he was still holding on the ground, he aided Matthew in forcing the lid off the larger stone. It crashed to the floor with a bang that made all eardrums vibrate.

"That was easier than I thought it would be," Matthew remarked. "I don't think anything evil would be buried here with so little security."

Tom bent over the side of the stone sarcophagus, which was carved deep inside. A bundle of off-white sheets were crumbled at the bottom. There did not seem to be anything beneath them, however, which was an inauspicious discovery – it meant that whatever had been wrapped in the shroud and entombed inside was not where it was supposed to be.

"I wonder how it got out," Matthew said. "The lid was hard to displace."

Tom reached for the shroud, but all that had been concealed within its folds were handfuls of powdery rock. It was soaked in the stench of death, and Tom grimaced.

"What the heck do you think this was? A mummy, maybe?" he asked Matthew, shaking the shroud.

Matthew shook his head. "They aren't partial to leaving their burial dressings behind, unless it was rather raunchy in life."

"I'm not inclined to believe that some mummies stalk about naked," Tom said.

"Didn't you hear about what happened in the British Museum three years ago?"

"No, and don't tell the story right now. We need to figure out what this is – wait!" Tom interrupted himself. "The writing on the sides, see? Maybe that's a clue."

"Good thinking, Tom," Matthew said. "Do either of us happen to have a Latin-English dictionary in our pockets?"

"Sorry, but I think I left it in the car," Tom said with equal amounts of sarcasm. "But between us, maybe we can figure some of the words out. There's two that I know on this one: death and darkness."

"Cheery," Matthew commented. "I'm not sure how much good it'll do, but right now, it's all we can do. Look at the ones on that end, and I'll inspect the ones over there."

The pair spent a good ten minutes scrutinizing each word carved into the stone. As they continued down the line, closer to the newer inscriptions, Tom began to feel his severe misgivings escalate as the translations became increasingly macabre. He decoded the words "skeleton," "spectre," "immortal," and the phrase  _memento mori,_ which Tom recalled as meaning something along the lines of "a reminder of death."

"I'm starting to really not like this," Matthew murmured. "This line I'm reading – or trying to – it's like some sort of incantation, or curse."

"What does it say?"

"Er … should I really say it out loud? I might accidentally summon some demon from hell," Matthew said.

Tom scoffed, but he left the weathered tomb he was inspecting and went to Matthew's side. As he read the unintelligible words, his eyes followed the moving torchlight. But when the last word was illuminated, Tom's breath froze in his throat.

"This is not a crypt for humans," he declared. "It's a prison for monsters."

Matthew looked at Tom with startled eyes. "I figured the same, but it can't be – why would the people of Harthwaite make a prison for monsters? Usually,  _we're_  focused on killing the damn things, not trapping them."

"That's something only the village can explain," Tom said. "The real problem is that one beast has gone missing, and we don't know what it is, how long it's been free, or that it was the only one that escaped."

"What was written the empty tomb?" Matthew asked.

Tom shook his head. "I couldn't understand it, except for the two words for death and darkness."

"That could refer to a plethora of evil creatures," Matthew said, "or something else entirely."

"I'm guessing that this incantation something or other was written here to keep in the demons," Tom deduced. "It's written on most of the other tombs. Clearly there was a fault in the spelling."

He stepped backwards from the tomb. "I think it's best to head down to the village now," he said. "These sarcophagi – I hope you realize that there are demons still inside those things."

Matthew took a long stride back as well. "That sounds like a brilliant idea, as long as the actual village isn't overtaken by monsters as well."

"Just as well that we're prepared," Tom said, gathering up his belongings, including the camera.

And with that, both men bounded out of the cellar catacomb faster than bats out of hell.

 


	2. An Ill Omen in the Town

It was one in the morning when Tom eased the car down the main road of the village of Harthwaite. From what either man could see in the darkness, there was not a lot that was special about the town. The stone houses and shops were lined in a neat row, but there was very little decoration on the exteriors. It was a fairly average village, but even so, there was very little charm or quaintness about it; Matthew mentioned that it resembled a mill town, minus the mill. There was not a single light turned on, nothing to light the way but the faulty headlamps on the car. It seemed like the entire village was deserted, though Tom saw – and nearly crashed into – several cars parked against the kerb.

Matthew was bent over the map, squinting at it with his torch. "There should be an inn down this way."

"I hope they'll let us in at this hour," Tom said. He'd been to some places where the inns were less than hospitable, but most turned out decent. In this unremarkable town, he doubted that any guest houses were having good business.

The inn at the end of the main road was, as luck would have it, still open. Tom manoeuvred the car into the adjacent car park, which was occupied by one other vehicle. Initially thinking that he wasn't seeing through the darkness properly, he noticed that the car did not have a licence plate.

"At a place like this, I hope the room isn't a cot and a washtub," Matthew said to Tom. "You stay in here; I'll see if I can't wrangle a room for two men who have just driven into town together and are looking for a —"

"When you put it like that," Tom interjected, "it sounds like we're a – you know —"

"It would not be the first time that we've been accused of being together," Matthew said.

"Just go and get a room," Tom said, faking exasperation.

A small bell above the door tinkled as Matthew entered the, apparently still open, inn. There was a single dim lamp turned on, sitting behind the clerk's desk, but there was no one else in the room. According to the timetable hanging on the wall, however, there should have been someone working behind the desk. Surely someone was around to have heard the door bell ring.

While he stood awkwardly, Matthew looked around the small room, wondering if there was some pamphlet or plaque about the history of the town. Inns typically had that sort of thing, from his experience. But though the small front room held some generic adornments meant to convey coziness and a stack of road maps, there was no hint of information about Harthwaite.

Matthew's ears had grown so accustomed to the ringing silence around him that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard footsteps coming behind the desk. From all of the nineteenth-century novels flooded with depression and destitution, he somehow always expected dreary places to have dreary people, but he was greeted by a cheerful, though rather bleary-eyed, blonde-haired woman.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, sir," she said. "We never get guests this late at night – but they don't come in great hordes most of the time anyway."

"I see," Matthew said. "My – er, partner – and I are looking for to stay for —" How  _long_ were they going to stay in this village and look for the monsters running amok? "Just put us down for two nights, ma'am," he said after his brief hesitation.

The small woman produced a key with a tag attached by a small ring. "There's the key, lucky number thirteen," she said with a small grin. "I'm Anna Bates; my husband John will be here in the morning in case you need anything."

"Thank you very much," Matthew said, taking the keychain from Mrs Bates. He briefly stepped outside to signal to Tom, still lounging inside the car. A minutes later, Tom entered through the front door, lugging two worn-out duffel bags behind him. They were stuffed with various articles of clothing, books, an assortment of tools and weapons, and an old transistor radio belonging to Tom. He tossed Matthew's bag into the air, and Matthew caught it with a grunt.

"I hope you two will be comfortable," Anna Bates said cheerfully.

"We will be," Tom said, "as long as Matthew doesn't talk in his sleep."

"I don't do that anymore!" Matthew growled.

"Not frequently," Tom quipped.

As the two of them trekked up the stairs to their room, Tom asked, "Did you ask the lady about the church?"

"For the purpose of not appearing outright suspicious, no, I did not ask," Matthew answered.

Tom shot a sullen glare in Matthew's direction. "'Outright suspicious?'" he repeated. "Do you honestly think we look like criminals to people?"

"Not criminals, per se, but we're two young men traveling together who arrive in this isolated village in the middle of the night. If there's something that these people are keeping secret, and the first thing I ask is, 'what's up with the abandoned church out yonder?' or something, wouldn't that make them believe I'm up to something?"

He pushed the key into the lock and opened the musky smelling door. He poked his head in to make a preliminary inspection of the room. There was a small bathroom to the left, and in the bedroom a tidy arrangement of a desk with a light, a closet with the door slightly ajar, two rigid-looking chairs – and a single bed.

Both men flashed each other sideways glances. "This always happens," Tom grumbled. "Why does everyone think we're a couple?"

"Before you accuse me of setting this up, I can confidently say that I said nothing of the weird sort to Mrs Bates downstairs," Matthew pointed out.

Tom dragged his bag into the room and threw it on the best, which creaked slightly from the increase in weight. "I ought to make you sleep on the floor. But there's no point in that, seeing as you'll just climb back in once I fall asleep."

"You know me so well, Tom," Matthew smirked. "Really, why do you act so confounded when people think we're a —?"

"Matthew!" Tom cried, trying to sound vexed despite the sniggers he was trying to suppress.

* * *

Surprisingly, both of them slept soundly through the night, but a rude awakening came in the form of raucous banging on the door. Tom opened one eye and looked around with filmy vision. The room was cast in a morning grey light.

"Wha' is it?" he croaked.

"It's Mrs Bates. Will you open the door?"

Tom groaned and rubbed his face as he swung his legs down to the carpet. He gave a light slap on Matthew's shoulder (who had been sleeping a little too close to Tom on the bed for comfort) and went to open the door. Anna Bates, wearing a thin bathrobe, was looking just as drowsy.

"Sorry to wake you up so early, but the police just called," she explained. "They've put out an alert for everyone in the town."

"What for?" Tom asked.

"Several things, actually. Some people phoned about hearing wild animals running about rather close to some homes, and there have been … incidents … in the past, so there's a lot of people worried about that. Then late last night, two children were reported missing."

"Reported missing?" Tom asked urgently. "Do you know what happened?"

Anna shrugged lightly. "The police didn't say much. Only that they were walking home from a friend's house, and they never turned up."

"I see," Tom said. "Thank you, then."

He closed the door and went into the bathroom to throw some water on his face. When he emerged, Matthew was pulling a set of clothes out of his back and accidentally knocking a small gun to the floor.

"Missing children, huh?" he said, not looking at Tom. "Just our luck that this happens the day after we arrive."

He pulled a stray sock from the bag and then went digging for its partner "But if the police start looking for suspects, you know who's going to be in deep shit? The pair of us."

Tom scratched his head, ignoring the grimy feeling in his hair. "You think people will believe we have something to do with —?" He stopped himself short. "It would make sense, actually: we're strangers, we arrived in the middle of the night, which would be around the time the children went missing …"

Matthew gave an all-knowing look at Tom. "Now do you understand why I don't want to look suspicious?"

Tom rubbed his temples some more. "I just hope no one gets the idea to search through our bags. They aren't going to find children, but they won't like what we have in there anyway."

"Which means that'll put us in an even more incriminating situation," Matthew concluded, finally finding the missing sock.

They hadn't been in the town for twelve hours, and already they were entertaining the possibility that they could be accused of kidnapping a pair of children. Tom would rather face down a couple of minotaurs than talk his way out of a police station – considering that his record was not completely spotless. Matthew might be able coerce even the most stubborn constable into letting him get away with murder, but Tom was helpless if he was ever apprehended by the police as a suspect of kidnapping.

"Hey, Matthew? You haven't considered the chances that the monsters from the church and the missing children are somehow connected?"

"And you don't suppose that the 'wild animals' people have been hearing are just the monsters galavanting around the village?" Matthew said.

"Oh, so you  _were_  awake for that," Tom retorted. Ignoring Matthew's glower, he went on, his brain piecing together the events happening in Harthwaite. "The monsters must have escaped the crypt at some point, and they're roaming around people's houses. The two kid's who were leaving their friend's house got caught by the monsters, and then – what?"

"Did you really have to spell  _everything_  out?" Matthew asked.

"I have to keep it all straight in my head," Tom justified.

"Fair enough." Matthew got up off the floor with a pile of clothes in his arms and headed straight for the bathroom. "As soon as the both of us look decent, let's ask around and see if we can't dig up any more information about the weird incidents happening."

"Didn't you say last night that we were going to do the exact opposite to avoid sounding suspicious?" Tom inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Matthew stopped between the bathroom and the bedroom, the incongruity of the situation hitting him. He eventually shrugged. "I think, at this point, it doesn't matter what we do, because we're strangers in a small town and children have gone missing."

"Bloody hell," Tom muttered. He was making a mental reminder to never listen to anonymous tips again.

* * *

Apparently, the people of Harthwaite had heeded the warning the police issued; few people were outside of their homes or workplaces. The town looked just as deserted as the night before.

Matthew and Tom walked down to a small shop to collect something to eat, and both of the them were conscious of the wary glances the inhabitants sent to each other. It could not have been some great feat to distinguish a visitor from a local – the clothes most townspeople were dressed in might have been fashionable ten years ago, and the expressions they wore were far more wearied, the older faces drawn with withered lines. There seemed to be barely a litre of liveliness within the town boundaries.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we're dealing with the types of monsters that literally drain the energy out of you," Tom said, ravenously bolting down a full breakfast. "And I'm not just talking about schoolteachers."

"If we see the students walking like zombies, we'll make a visit to the school," Matthew joked. "But in all seriousness, we do need to get an idea of what – and how many of what – is actually out there."

Tom jerked his chin towards a band of seedy bearded men, each looking at least half a century old. "D'you want to go ask those  _bodachs_ about any possible monsters they've seen lurking about?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I highly doubt anything would come of it."

"Then what are our other options?" Tom said. "Look for tracks? Do a sniff test?"

"Look for a hiding spot," Matthew threw in.

"Er, what?"

"You heard me. Those monsters are likely the ones that like the nighttime, so during the day they must be sleeping someplace, hiding from everybody walking about," Matthew elucidated.

"Good thinking there, Crawley," Tom nodded approvingly. "So, hiding places: like where? The church?"

"It didn't look like they had been there for a while," Matthew noted. "Remember how hard it was to get rid of that coffin lid? I don't know of any monsters that like to engage in back-breaking labor before turning in."

"Still, it might be worth it to check again, just to be safe," Tom said. "Where else?"

"We could ask if there are any underground spots – caves, mines, those sorts of places – or other areas with a lot of history, like a graveyard or an old home. We'll act like sightseers looking for a few good photos, and it wouldn't make us look  _too_  suspicious."

"I'd rather look like a criminal than a tourist," Tom muttered.

"We're going to have to work with what we've got," Matthew said. "Speaking of, what do we have left to neutralize any possible demon nests?"

Tom leaned back and tried to remember the most recent contents of their inventory. "Three cannisters of salt, two bottles of holy water, a packet of holy soil, the crucifixes, iron bullets, silver bullets – I can't remember if that's all."

"It's probably enough for now," Matthew shrugged. "Hopefully."

Both kept their mouths shut as they went to the counter and paid for their food. When they stepped outside, there were some more cars and bikes rolling down the main road, but otherwise it was just as dormant as before.

Matthew looked at his watch. "It's a little past eight right now. Let's meet back here in two hours. You go and scour for information about anywhere that the monsters might be hiding, and I'll ask around if they saw what came around to the houses at all."

"Why are you the one who gets to go talk to people?" Tom whinged.

"Because I am less likely to start preaching about political injustice once I meet someone new," Matthew retorted mildly.

"And where am I supposed to find said information?"

"Books, maps. The internet," Matthew said, very close to whacking Tom across the head to wake him up fully.

Tom sighed. "Fine."

"Good man," Matthew said, walking off down the road.

"There has got to be something in this backwater that's worth my energy," Tom muttered, turning towards the main square.

* * *

After only one hour, Tom had already found a dozen books with information about the surrounding Cornwall area, and half of those books mentioned Harthwaite at least twice. He had spread the books out around the table he had occupied at the small (though astoundingly well-stocked) bookstore, and on a spare leaf of paper he was writing a list of the most feasible places that nocturnal monsters would be hiding. He had narrowed it down to four places near Harthwaite: a crumbling tin mine four kilometres away from town, a formation of standing stones to the north, a small manor house that had not been inhabited for two hundred years, and of course the old church.

The abandoned tin mine and the manor house showed promise as effective refuges for monsters, but Tom was curious about the circle of standing stones. He knew that there were several of such places across England, Cornwall included, and besides serving as dwellings for Sidhe and pixies they were not extraordinary places, but it was the photo in one of the books that triggered Tom's curiosity.

The circle looked almost  _too_  perfect, too picturesque to be natural. Most formations were millennia old, and the stones were often worn down so they looked mismatched. But in the photo the erect stones were so neatly shaped and so alike to one another that Tom wondered if the photo was doctored. And he would have been a fool not to notice the large rock in the centre of the circle: it was about a metre high, but there was a perfect circle born through the middle. According to the caption, if one looked through the hole, they would see the Harthwaite church sitting a little ways south. And, by the light of a full moon, the stones possessed incredible power, but if there were malevolent creatures in the vicinity, then the energy within the stones could go haywire and cause trouble.

Tom remembered that last night had been a full moon.

And last night, two children had disappeared.

Did this stone formation have anything to do with the missing monsters and children? Tom would have bet all of his savings to say so.

He marked on a map where all of the possible monster-hotspots were, and then, without even replacing the books on the shelves, left the bookstore to wait for Matthew. He stood outside the shop they had parted in front of, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. The wind was colder than it had been in the morning, he noticed as he shivered, but that was not uncommon in this part of England. Windy days were normal –

But if it was a windy day, why did everything look absolutely still? Flags should have been billowing, coats should have been flapping, but air was blowing past Tom's face – he could feel the undeniable sting of cold against his cheeks, and he could hear the breeze whistle in his ears. As far as he could tell, no one else was reacting to the ghost wind (it seemed the most appropriate term at the moment), so either they weren't paying any mind to it or Tom was the only one who could feel it.

Quelling his minute-long panic, Tom pulled out his mobile and called Matthew.

"Tom, I'm on my way back —"

"I know, but just listen," Tom urgently interrupted. "Is the wind blowing around you?"

"Er … yes, but why?"

Tom breathed a sigh of relief – he wasn't barking mad after all. "It's not really there. It's like a ghost wind or something. I can feel it, but it's not affecting everything else."

Matthew did not reply immediately afterwards, and Tom suspected he was observing his surroundings. Wherever he was, he probably wasn't too far away, and Tom imagined that the ghost wind was blowing all across Harthwaite.

"I think you may right," Matthew said in an undertone. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Me neither," Tom murmured. "Hurry back here so we can talk properly about it. I don't like the way that people aren't taking notice of it."

"Okay," Matthew said, "I'm only five minutes away. Over and out." He hung up.

This is just getting more bizarre by the minute, Tom said to himself. The mysterious wind, the missing children, the empty tombs underneath the church … and though there was no clear-cut indication, they all had to be connected.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Can anybody tell I'm a mythology buff? Because I totally am.


	3. A Meeting of Fates

Just as he had promised, Matthew rejoined Tom not long after, and within ten minutes Tom relayed everything he had read in the bookstore, from the stone formations to all of the possible monster-hiding spots around Harthwaite. His hands were shaking rapidly from either excitement or panic when he unfolded the map to show Matthew where he had marked it, and he felt breathless just from talking at a mile a minute. Matthew, on the other hand, looked comparatively steady – on the exterior. While he was surveying the map, Tom saw a rare glimpse of trepidation in his partner's eyes, which meant nothing but trouble ahead. If Matthew was nervous, then Tom had even more reason to believe that the dangers they were going to face were not imaginary.

"This stone circle," Matthew pointed on the map, "it sits just a little bit north of the church we went to yesterday. Did the books say anything about that?"

"Only what you just mentioned," Tom responded. "They didn't talk about any sort of significance."

"Well, there's got to be something significant about that," Matthew said. "The formation and the church are in a near perfect line from north to south. It's a little uncanny, and too exact to be a coincidence."

"That's what I was thinking," Tom said. "So you agree that the monsters in the church crypt and the stone formation are related somehow?"

"Somehow, but I can't fathom an explanation. Old English mythology isn't really my forte," Matthew shrugged.

Tom folded the map so the markings showing the stone circle and the church faced outward. "Anyway, did you find anyone who said something useful?"

Matthew brightened. "I did, actually. I went down to the police station to ask about the missing children, and the woman on duty gave me a copy of the initial findings on the case." From his bag he pulled a couple of papers stapled together, which Tom took earnestly.

"How in hell did you manage that?" he asked.

"I have a better way with authority than you do," Matthew said smugly.

"And they didn't ask why you were asking?"

Matthew shook his head. Tom whistled. "They don't have a very secure force here, giving crime reports out to strangers."

"Odd, even for a small town like this. I suppose in a place as isolated as here, people aren't right in the head," Matthew said indifferently.

The back page of the report contained several grainy photographs, taken where a set of small shoe prints had been freshly pressed into the ground. But as Matthew and Tom peered closer at the pictures, the children's trainers were not the only things that could be seen marked in the soil.

"Is that …" Tom began, staring unblinking at the top photograph, "… from a werewolf?"

"Or something damn close to one," Matthew stated. "There are tracks from other creatures, but I can't make out what they are."

"We know one thing – they're all bigger than a little kid," Tom said. "Which means that I'm willing to bet more that they aren't the friendly type."

"This is going to deprive us of all the ammo we have left," Matthew griped.

"As long as we still have some, we've got a chance at exterminating them," Tom said. "Let's head back to the car and scout out the stone formation."

He turned around and promptly smacked into a short woman carrying a briefcase that wasn't clasped correctly; both sets of papers flew into the air and floated down like large snowflakes. Some danced across the street as a car rolled past.

"Oh! – are you alright?" asked the woman. She had managed to stumble to the ground, as did Tom, and she was rubbing the part of her chin that was apple-red.

"I'm – feck, I'm so sorry," Tom said quickly. He turned left and right, grabbing at the woman's papers that had fallen to the pavement. He noticed that most of the papers had red pen marks slashed across in various places.

"Thank you," the woman said hurriedly, making a grab for a couple of papers that were jumping across the road. She climbed awkwardly to her feet and lunged for the rest of them. Before she could catch any more, Tom raced over and gathered the remainder of the papers before they traveled farther down the road and flattened by an automobile. He clutched them haphazardly in his arms as he ran back across the street and handed the messy stack back to the woman.

She smiled sheepishly. "Thank you so much," she said, stuffing the papers into the briefcase without a care for order. "You took a lot of consideration to save a test that most of my students failed. I'd be happy to be rid of them myself."

"You're a teacher?" Tom asked.

"At the school here, of course," the woman said. She squinted at Tom. "You aren't from around here, are you?"

Tom scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well, I – er, we..."

The woman giggled and waved him off. "I didn't mean anything rude by it. It's just that everybody around here knows me, since I teach most of the little ones." She brought her voice down to a playful whisper. "If you mention the name Sarah Bunting, any children who hears you might call me out as a wicked witch for teaching them multiplication on the first day of school."

Tom forced a smile. "Heh, I'll try not to let your name slip out."

Matthew, who had watched the entire scene in an unamused humour, suddenly spoke out. "It's quite a blustery day, don't you think?" he said to no one in particular.

"Yes, quite," Sarah Bunting agreed. "If Tom hadn't come to the rescue these tests would be out to sea by now," she added, patting the briefcase.

Again, Tom raised his hand to brush at the back of his head. "I didn't do much – it was my fault you lost them anyhow."

"Well, all's well that end's well," Sarah Bunting concluded. "I'm due back at the school now, since playtime is almost over. Have a nice stay here, you two."

She walked down the pavement, giving a little wave with one hand while she looked back, eyes harpooning right into Tom.

Matthew tapped his foot impatiently. "I don't like her."

Tom scoffed. "Wow. You see the woman for three minutes and you decide you don't like her."

"I have my reasons," Matthew said caustically. "And I think you should hear them as well."

"Don't bother with it," Tom snapped. "We need to head to the car now."

He walked quickly in the direction of the inn, and Matthew followed with an agitation in his step.

"Tom, listen to me, I think that woman – Bunting, or whomever – is involved in all of this."

"Matthew, that is one bizarre gut feeling."

"It  _is_  a gut feeling, yes, but I've got valid reasons for believing it too."

"What?"

"The ghost wind! She agreed with me when she said it was a blustery day – and there isn't any wind to  _see._ She feels it too."

"Alright then, she can feel the ghost wind – that could mean anything." Tom wasn't in the mood to start arguing with Matthew, especially when it sounded like the other man was starting to make a logical point.

"Oh, really? Then explain how she knew your name when you didn't mention it once!"

Tom stopped short, the soles of his boots scraping into the stone pavement. He turned sharply back to Matthew. "I didn't tell her my name?"

"Nope, but she knew it anyway," Matthew said.

"Perhaps she overheard us?"

"I doubt it. I didn't say your name in the conversation we had before you slammed into her."

Tom whirled around, hoping to catch Sarah Bunting's figure somewhere, but she was not in sight. "I wonder if ... Matthew, if she was the anonymous caller—!"

"That would be a reasonable explanation to her knowing your name," Matthew said. "Can you remember if it sounded at all like her."

Tom crumpled his brow, trying to remember the phone call from several days earlier. "The caller spoke in a sort of whisper – but it sounded like she had a sore throat, because there was this croaking as well."

"It would make sense that she would disguise her voice," Matthew said.

"But why? Why would she direct us here where there are dangerous monsters running about and kidnapping children?"

"Let's think of the answers to all of these wonderful questions inside the car. In case she's listening in on us. Just a thought."

Tom nodded – he was growing panicked now, and he instinctively looked over his shoulder to make sure that Sarah Bunting was not following them. As suddenly as if he had been hit in the face, thinking of that woman smiling at him was making him uneasy, almost as if she were a pain that he could not even specifically locate.

* * *

Tom did not feel completely safe, even back in his car, driving down a road that was little more than tire tracks in the ground. His inclination to keep the car moving closer to the stone formation was weakening, for there was nagging sensation in his brain that was telling him not to go on. But he knew there was little choice but to do so.

"Okay, what do we know so far?" he asked.

Matthew consulted his ever-growing mental list of strange occurrences. "We've figured out that the anonymous caller is most likely that little schoolteacher, and she's aware of the ghost wind. You found out about the stone formation that we're going to now, as well as the possible hiding spots of those monsters. Out of all of the possible places those bastards could be, the stone formation and the tin mine seem the most likely. Originally, they were trapped inside the tombs in the crypt, but something released them, and I'm guessing that it was recent. Last night, when there was a full moon, two kids go missing, and the crime scene photos show several species of large creatures close to the footprints of the two kids."

Tom nodded. "Anything else?"

"You are a pain in the arse."

"Thanks."

"No, seriously, I thought I was going to vomit when I saw you getting all sweet with that Bunting woman, racing gallantly across the street to gather her fallen tests."

Tom grunted. "I'm allowed to act like a gentleman sometimes," he muttered.

"That woman was bad news from the start. How the hell did you manage to so perfectly ram into her? It was like something out of a generic romance film. I think she  _wanted_  to collide with you in the first place." Matthew kept his eyes peeled on the road, but he was itching to give Tom a good whack upside the head for not recognizing sense.

The path they were traveling down was heavily shaded by trees of different sorts, and Tom could swear on his grandmother's grave that a fog was gathering quicker than he could say "sanity." Eventually, he had to slow the car down to a lethargic crawl because, even with the lights on, he could not see more than twenty feet ahead of him. Inside and outside the car, the temperature was dropping noticeably until exhaled breaths could be seen floating like wisps of smoke. And neither man though it was coincidental that they were approaching the arcane stone circle just as the mist augmented and the temperature dwindled to single digits.

"Doesn't this feel like the start to a horror film?" Matthew murmured. "Out in the woods, the mist gathering, freezing cold, wolves howling—"

Tom jolted. "You hear wolves?"

"No, but I'm afraid we'll hear some very soon," Matthew said without his usual teasing inflection.

The tires ground against the earth beneath them and rattled the interior. "I think this is the end of the road," Tom said. "The circle should be up ahead."

"We're going to need better lights to see through this fog," Matthew noted, turning on his torch; the soft yellow light was flickering.

Tom breathed heavily, running his hands up and down his face. "I wish we knew exactly what we were up against, so that we could better prepare. I don't like this."

"We are as prepared as we could possibly be," Matthew said. "We  _can_  take down whatever is waiting out there." He added as he opened the car door, "But we're not much use if we just sit in here."

Tom, resigned to doing his duty for the good of mankind, followed Matthew out of the car and around to the boot. Both men equipped themselves with warmer jackets, an assortment of specialized weapons, and every possible protective measure. Matthew replaced the batteries in his torch, but it did not fix the problem in the slightest – the light kept flaring up, then dying down periodically.

"What's up with this damn thing?" Matthew gritted his teeth as he tapped the torch against the palm of his hand.

Tom waved his about; the stream of light was weak against the smoggy air. "We need to keep the car lights on," he decided, going back around to turn the car back on.

The engine grunted, then sputtered, then fell silent.

Tom ground the key in the hole several times, but the car was functioning as well as if it had no battery. "Damn!" he growled. "It won't start up!"

"How do you mean?" Matthew's voice seemed to echo in the misty forest. "The car was absolutely fine a minute ago!"

"Well, now it's as dead as mutton!" Tom cried. He slammed his curled fist against the driver's seat.

There was a pause as Matthew and Tom took in the unreal surprise. "You don't suppose … something drained the energy from the car?" Matthew said eventually.

"It must be doing the same to your torch," Tom added.

Matthew pressed the torch on again, but this time there was not even a glimmer of light. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket; before his own eyes, the battery icon was dropped down to zero percent in a matter of seconds. "I think most of the battery-powered objects around here have gone kaput."

If either of them had any doubts about the magic of the stone formation, they were thereafter dispelled.

"We'd best go now, so we can get back to the village before dark," Tom said quietly, with hardly a trace of gumption. "If we can make it back at all."

He was feeling just as he had felt last night, standing before the foreboding church as if it were the monster itself. Although he could not yet see the stone circle, he knew that the feeling would be much, much worse than when he had been standing amongst the tombs in the crypt. Unconsciously, he shuddered as he looked into the heavy fog.

Matthew clapped his hand on Tom's shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "Let's not throw in the towel so quickly," he said. "We've faced tough monsters before, and we've always come out in one piece. What's to say that the same won't happen this time?"

Tom fully grasped the truth in Matthew's words, but there remained in his head a dreadful feeling, one that might be impossible to shake; nevertheless, he nodded and hoped that Matthew's assurance would continue to hold true. He was the first to step in front of the car and face the oncoming mist.

"Let's go," he said blankly, hoisting the strap of his shotgun across his shoulder.

Though both were entirely aware of the danger they were walking towards, they were oblivious to the kind that was watching both of them intently.

* * *

Matthew's head snapped to the side, and in a few quick movements, had his rifle aimed towards the thick grove of trees to his left.

"What the hell?" Tom cried.

"Be quiet!" Matthew hissed, keeping his hands steady as they held the rifle. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to send the silver bullet flying into whatever creature was preparing to leap at them.

Tom, steadily as to not make more noise, readied his own shotgun and pointed it in the same direction. The surrounding mist made seeing anything through the trees problematic, but within the silent woods any sound could be clearly heard. To Tom's ears, there was the faint crinkling of dead leaves, the sound of feet scuffling about between the low hanging branches. There was not an animal to be seen for miles around, so Tom dismissed the theory that he and Matthew might be pointing their guns at a rabbit. But his immense dread, the sounds were coming closer, and they sounded as if they were being created by a large being, hurrying towards them with clumsy speed.

A billow of dead leaves and loam sprayed the ground in front of Matthew and Tom. Both men pointed their guns down at the mass lying sprawled on the grassy dirt, human-like limbs flung outwards.

"Wait—"

Tom lifted his gun to a vertical position, leaning closer to look at the being lying hardly two feet away from him. Despite the mist clouding his eyeballs, there could be no room for doubt about the identity of the creature.

"It's a girl," he said, his bafflement leaking into his words.

Matthew coughed. "What—"

The apparent girl, looking less than twenty years old, shifted abruptly as if she had woken up from tumultuous sleep. When she lifted her head, she revealed the grime caked onto her cheeks, as if she had been living in the woods for a week. Her dark hair was half-done up in a braid across her shoulder, and small bits of various matter was strewn between the limp strands. She might have been a hiker or camp who preferred the more eccentric locales, but the gun holsters on her belt, the two-inch wide knife sheath strapped to her thigh, and the odour of garlic masking the smell of nature told Matthew and Tom otherwise.

Both Tom and Matthew stepped forward to help the girl up, but before they could reach her, another cloud of dead forest matter heralded the arrival of yet another young woman – this one wielding a dangerous-looking crossbow with a sharpened wooden stake pointed in their direction.

They jumped back, instinctively flinging their guns to the ground and raising their hands up. The woman, who had a faint resemblance to the girl on the ground, waved the crossbow about, unsure who to shoot first.

"Er, Mary?" The first girl, over whom her partner stood, cringed. "Would you mind moving?"

"One moment Sybil," growled Mary, "I have some business to take care of with these two prats."

An annoyed sound slipped out of Matthew's mouth, and Mary aimed the crossbow at his chest.

"Easy there, wait – just wait – let me explain," Matthew stuttered. Mary did not retreat, and she inched her loaded crossbow closer.

"Mary!" groaned Sybil, still on the ground. "Just leave them alone."

"They were pointing guns at you!" Mary exclaimed.

"And you're pointing a bloody crossbow at us!" Matthew retorted. "Listen, now is not the time for this," he said quickly. "We've got a date at a stone circle, and I'd rather not be late for it."

Mary quirked up an eyebrow. Her tone was less authoritarian as she asked, "Stone circle? What are you doing around the stone circle?"

Matthew looked at Tom, unsure whether or not to divulge their plan of action to the two odd (though very pretty) strangers.

"You two know about the stone circle at the end of this path?" Tom asked, cautiously lowering his arms.

"Yes – and I'm surprised you do too," Mary said. "But why are you going there with guns?"

Matthew shrugged. "It is probably for the same reason you have a crossbow loaded with a wooden stake, a couple of guns and," he wrinkled his nose, "plenty of garlic to cook a hearty Italian meal with."

At last, Mary lowered the crossbow to her waist. She sidestepped and offered Sybil a hand. As soon as she was standing, Sybil furiously brushed off the contents of the forest off of her clothes, though there remained a film of dried mud on her combat boots. "I'm Sybil," she said, extending her hand first to Tom and then to Matthew. She cocked her head towards Mary, who was putting her crossbow in the safety position. "That's my sister."

"Nice to meet you," Tom said, smiling despite himself. He pointed to himself. "I'm Tom, and this is my partner Matthew."

Mary looked pointedly at the two men standing in front of her. "What business do you have at the stone circle?"

"Guess," Matthew said, picking his rifle off of the ground. "And what about you?"

Mary tapped her crossbow. "Guess."

Tom chuckled. "We're making great conversation here, aren't we?"

Sybil smirked. "We were tracking a couple of creatures that we think kidnapped some children from the village. I read about the stone circle nearby, and – well, I suppose you also know about it, if you're looking for it."

"Sure do," Tom said.

"We've been looking for the path to it for hours," Sybil added. "Our car broke down and I can swear we've been walking about in circles."

"The fog is throwing us off," Mary said. "And our torches stopped working as well."

"Well, that's something we have in common," Matthew said. "Apart from hunting down some child-snatching monsters."

Mary's expression was growing softer by the minute. "I never thought we'd come across another group of monster hunters. I'm glad we aren't the only ones in the world."

"Well, we operate more on a basis of 'get some photos then get the hell out,'" Matthew said. "Somehow, though, we always end up bashing into some rather unpleasant specimens."

"And speaking of which, we've still got that date with them," Tom said. "Can we continue this conversation while walking that way?" He pointed down the path in the direction of the stone circles.

"Lead the way," Matthew said. He turned back to Mary. "Mind if I bring you up to speed on what we've found here so far?"

"Fine," Mary sighed, slinging her crossbow across her back. "Sybil, ready to go?"

"I was born ready," Sybil returned confidently.

Mary snorted.

The entire party began to move down the fog-enveloped path. Matthew gestured between Mary and Sybil. "Are you two sisters?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Mary said, ignoring the black look that Sybil was giving her. "If she wasn't here, I'd be doing this alone and perhaps much faster."

"Would you rather have Edith as your sidekick?" Sybil countered.

"Ugh!" Mary shuddered. "She's even worse on the field." She said to Matthew, "Edith's my younger sister and Sybil's older sister. She secures our weapons and supplies for us, but that is about as useful as she gets."

"She does research too," Sybil called back. She was slightly ahead of Mary and Matthew, almost directly next to Tom.

"She was a real help on this mission," Mary said sardonically.

"At least you have easy access to monster-exterminating weaponry," Matthew said. "I imagine you can wrangle a good price with a sibling on the other end."

"I think that Edith charges more than what these weapons are worth because I'm her sister," Mary grinned. She looked between Matthew next to her and Tom a few steps in front of her. "So what's the deal with you and Tom? Are you brothers who were raised in different places?"

"No."

"Are you … together?"

Matthew threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Good God! Why does everybody think that? It's not like we've kissed before!"

Mary giggled. Up ahead, Sybil and Tom were stumbling down the path as they laughed, struggling in vain to muffle their raucous chuckling.

By the time the party reached the end of the path, both sides were informed of what each one had encountered in Harthwaite. The girls had simply heard of the missing children while driving through the town, and they were unaware of what significance the church had to the problem. Neither were they initially acquainted with the schoolteacher who was under suspicion of leading Tom and Matthew into the mess.

"I don't like the sound of that woman," Sybil remarked. "She sounds like the type of person who's sweet on the outside, but ends up turning into some two-headed demon that eats your head."

"I wouldn't say that she's a man-eating demon," Tom said. "But she definitely knows more than she lets on."

"Shh!" shushed Mary.

They had come to the end of the path, which splintered off into unkempt grass, and the forest abruptly ended to reveal a large, flat plain. Two hundred feet from where everybody stood was the stone formation, large grey rocks jutting out like thick needles around a tall upright ring. The late afternoon light was dim, and the fog still gathered heavily, but the dark weathered stone seemed to each person glow with a dull phosphorescence. A chill ran down every spine, and the bitter air blowing about had little to do with it; even an ordinary person could detect the dark aura of each stone.

"I don't like this at all," Mary whispered, breathing nervously.

"What now?" Sybil pondered aloud.

"We look for the monsters," answered Tom. "There's still time before the sun goes down."

Mary peered at the clearing, but she did not take another step forward. "There's no cover for a long ways. The monsters can't be hiding here, can they?"

"The stones may have some power or other that's either hiding or camouflaging them," suggested Matthew.

It was quite obvious that that was the case. Still, no one moved from the spot where they were standing. Each hunter was as silent as the stones standing before them, and only a slight shiver from Sybil denoted the capability to move. The ice in the fog steeped the party in a horrific cold, and it appeared to signal the materialization of the core of evil itself.

"Well, well ... isn't this quite the little gathering?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Who else in the fandom wanted to throw a bucket of water on Sarah Bunting? *raises hand*


	4. A Skirmish Amongst Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Get ready for some BAMF*ckery from M/M and S/T! Also, bloody violence warning. Just ... warning.

"You?" Tom shouted.

"That's her?" Sybil asked incredulously. "That's—!"

"—me. Hello," Sarah Bunting said cheerily, waving a small hand.

One corner of Mary's upper lip was, inadvertently, curling upwards. Matthew was looking daggers at the woman, and, without a word, he was lifting his rifle up to a shooting position.

"Matthew, what the hell are you doing?" Tom cried, and at the same time Mary loaded her crossbow, pointing it in the same direction as Matthew's rifle.

"Mary, stop!" Sybil looked at Mary, then Sarah Bunting, then back to Mary. Sarah Bunting's head was tilted to the side like a puzzled puppy.

"We've hardly done the introductions, and you already want to kill me?" Sarah feigned offence, putting one hand to her heart and the other to her lips. "I'm  _so_  insulted."

"Oh, shut it," Matthew barked.

Sarah simpered.

"Both of you, just wait a minute!" Tom dashed in front of Matthew and Mary, their weapons pointed at his throat. He held his hands up in front of him. "Just wait."

Mary stepped to the side to take up a clear shot to Sarah again. "Tom, back off. She's not what you think she is."

"I'm not thinking she's anything—!" Tom sputtered

Sybil ran to her sister's side. "Mary, you don't think she's a—?"

"There's no doubt – look at her." Mary gestured to the woman still standing in front of the stone circle, posing like a calender girl.

"What is it? What is she?" Matthew asked. He looked somewhat anxious to knowing the answer.

"She's a witch," replied Mary.

There was a beat of silence, and what followed were three slow claps and a condescending laugh. "You're too good, Mary, you're too good, and you've never even seen me before."

"I know a witch when I see one, trust me," Mary snapped. "I've got two sisters."

"Oi!" Sybil roared.

Tom turned his head to glance over his shoulder at Sarah. "A witch? What do you mean?"

Mary's forehead wrinkled. "Have you never come across one?"

"Never have," Matthew shrugged.

Mary sighed at the inconvenience. "Alright, short lesson: witches can look like normal people, but only because they can charm themselves. They also have immense power over other supernatural creatures, and they like to create mischief just for the sake of sitting back and watching."

"So she would be the one orchestrating this whole string of weird events?" asked Matthew.

Mary nodded. "I'd bet every dollar that I paid for this crossbow that she's behind it all."

"And it  _was_  an expensive crossbow," Sybil interjected. "So, she's a witch. I can believe that."

From Sarah's mouth came a sigh as long as a Chinese dragon. "Oh, I'm  _so sad_  that I've been found out. Really, I thought I had you all fooled. I had such fun plans for all of you. Who knows, I could have snagged that charming Mr Branson and took him for a drink at the pub.  _C'est la vie,_  I suppose. Looks like I'll have to go ahead with what I had planned originally: setting my pets on the people of this village and watching them scream like little children."

Even as she spoke she began to shift in front of everybody's eyes. An inky matter spread from the corners of her eyes, clouding over her irises until there was nothing but black in her eyeballs. Her skin began to lose colour rapidly, and soon she looked like a pale-grey statue. Her voice grew high-pitched, and yet it echoed deeply as if they were standing in the middle of a mountain rain. All around her the fog began to gather and churn, growing so opaque that it was impossible to see the stone circle behind her.

"What are you doing?" cried Tom.

"Tell us where the children are," Matthew called out, pointing his rifle at the witch although he could hardly see her through the swirling mist. "Tell us, or I'll shoot you in the head!"

"Oh, the little children! I nearly forgot about them," Sarah said in her terrible new voice, and Tom could see her tongue was black and triangular in shape. "Well, I'm sure by know you've guessed that last night, I sent a few of my pets to find some snacks—"

Air hissed as one of Mary's shots bolted through the fog towards Sarah, but it missed by half a foot. Sarah did not even flinch.

"Relax, Mary, they haven't been eaten – yet. The monsters found two children, both of whom belong to my class. Coincidence? Yes, and a happy one. The monsters carried them back to their hideaway for a safe supper, but by the time they returned the sun was rising and they had to save the little imps for later."

From her belt Sybil pulled two pistols, already loaded, and clicked off the safety on both of them. "Then where are they?"

Sarah did not answer right away. She appeared to be standing rigidly, but Tom could see her arms hanging by her sides, index finger rubbing small circles against the thumb on each hand. Not taking his eyes off of her, he readied his shotgun to fire. He felt it tremble as the butt pressed against his shoulder.

"Listen to me, Sarah," he said in a soft, cautious tone, "stop it now. Release the kids and we'll let you go."

Sarah snorted, the sound not unlike a boar sniffing. "We both know you won't let me go skipping off alive," she retorted.

Her hands were still making the slight motions, and Tom was not sure if anyone else could see what she was doing.

"Mary," he whispered, hoping against hope that Sarah would not be able to make out his words. "What is she doing with her hands?"

Mary shook her head at first, but as her eyes were drawn down to the specific motions of Sarah's fingers, her eyes went wide.

"It's a summoning spell," she whispered hoarsely. "She's calling the monsters to her."

"Harthwaite had an impressive collection of monsters hidden beneath its church. It's why it was built in the first place," Sarah explained. "Not as a place of worship, but as a prison for the creatures they had captured over the years. That being said, I doubt anyone alive actually knows what was hidden in the crypts – most of the beasts haven't seen the light of day for about five hundred years. Until I released them a few days ago and hid them here, with the help of this lovely stone circle.

"And as soon as they eat, they'll lay waste to the town in the dead of the night!" she cried, her voice rising dramatically. "Every single human will be trampled and devoured by them. Their blood will be drained and their souls will be consumed before they know it. And I think the first course will be those puny brats that I have to teach day after day!"

Like a soft flute, the whistle of the ghost wind, the same that Tom and Matthew had heard in the village earlier, resonated across the country. Behind them, it blew amongst the trees, but though the rustling of leaves was deafening, the trees did not so much as sway from the invisible force. It was far chillier than it had been earlier, and each breath exhaled hung visible in the fog. Tom was now not the sole person shuddering.

"What is this?" Sybil's teeth were chattering. "Is this  _her_  doing?"

"This wind," Sarah began, cruel voice reverberating due to the howling of the wind, "can only be discerned by people who have come into contact with supernatural beings. So I suppose that means none of you are novices." A smug smile quirked up one corner of her mouth. "But this wind has been active since this morning, so my pets have heard my call even in their sleep. They will not hesitate to emerge and devour the puny brats before crushing all of you. And it won't be very long before the sun sets and you have no way to see them charging at you. Just as well that the stone circle is draining energy from every power source that comes close."

"So it  _is_  the reason why the car and the torches stopped working," muttered Tom. "But it doesn't normally do that, does it?"

"The stone circle is active," Sarah said, as if she had Tom's question. "I'm using it as a control centre, to keep an eye on my pets as well as to hide the children."

"You're behind everything!" Tom shouted, growing increasingly frantic – he did not know how much time there was left, since the fog was so heavy it obscured the very sky. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why does a witch like me do anything? We create chaos to  _survive_. We feed off of mischief just as a vampire feeds off of blood. And the spectacle about to commence will be like a feast to me!"

"Will someone throw a bucket of water over this hag's head?" Matthew asked to no one in particular.

"She'll kick it all the same!" Sybil hollered, charging forward with her pistols aimed right at Sarah's head. Mary and Tom rushed forward, calling out for Sybil to stop, blindly navigating through the fog that had quickly eclipsed her. Matthew was just about to follow them, but from the corner of his eye he caught sight of a break in the heavy mist, parting to reveal the horizon and the sun about to dip below it.

_When it goes down completely, the monsters will emerge and we will be vulnerable to whatever is out there_ , Matthew thought with horror.

Even then, he knew that in just a few minutes, they would be facing down an entire hoard of demons controlled by a barking mad witch.

Sybil, running as fast as she could through the mist, was a step away from pressing the barrel against Sarah's face when the blast sounded. It was like a thunderclap and a cannon sounding at once, shaking the earth under her feet, and the force threw her on her back. Mary too lost her balance from the sheer force of the sound, and when she tumbled to the ground her crossbow slipped from her hands. Tom skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over Mary.

The thunderous bang was followed a few seconds later by a blaze of brilliance, brighter than lightning, erupting from the middle of the stone circle. And echoing underneath the scream of the shining light came the din of demons awakening.

* * *

When Tom finally found the courage to open his eyes, he regretted the decision immediately.

He was lying on his back in the grass, with Mary prostrate an arm's length away to the left and Sybil facedown in front of him. Matthew had crumpled to the ground from the force of the blast a short distance away. Tom's thanks were silent upon seeing everyone gasping and breathing heavily, a sure sign that they were all alive.

But he was unsure just how long that would last. From every direction he could see monsters of every shape, demons with glowing eyes, beasts that were taller than he was and creatures that, though only a foot tall, had rows of razor-sharp teeth jutting from their jaws. They grunted and blinked, shaking their heads as if waking up from a long rest. Some were so close, close enough that Tom could feel their hot, ordure breath on his face. How many minutes had he spent with his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see the predators skulking so near?

Beside him, Mary moaned and clutched her side, her hand sightlessly searching for her crossbow.

"Sybil?" she gasped. "Sybil, are you alright?"

Sybil raised a limp hand, thumb extended, for a moment before letting it flop down to the grass again. "I am … going … to kill … her!"

"We might want to focus on these first," Mary pointed out. "So they don't, perhaps, kill  _us_  first!"

"Good luck with that," said the witch. Tom could not see where she was speaking from, even though the fog had cleared somewhat.

"Where are you, you old bat?" Sybil called out. She ran her hands over the grass to find her pistols, and when she grasped it she waved it around, disregarding who she was pointing it at.

"Be careful with that, little girl," the witch cackled. "These beasts are a tad hungry, and you are an easy meal for them. Along with the little brats, you'll be enough to whet their appetites."

_They haven't eaten the kids yet_ , Tom thought with relief.  _We probably don't have much time, though. We need to find them. But how?_

A cat-like creature with a lynx's head and a hissing tail was standing above Matthew, saliva dripping from its bared fangs. Matthew grimaced.

"Hello, beastie," he muttered. One hand was still holding on to his rifle, and he smashed the barrel into one of the creature's glaring yellow eyes. Blood spurted and the creature reared back, roaring and spitting as Matthew scrambled away, moving closer to Tom.

"If you could do that to all of them, that would be bloody brilliant," Tom said.

"I'm not sure that I can." Specks of blood dotted Matthew's face, and part of the creature's eyeball was embedded in the barrel of his rifle. "There are too many, and what I just did was sheer dumb luck."

"Then there has to be some way to get rid of them all at once," Tom replied.

"Her," Mary answered. "She controls them. If we destroy her, the rest will be manageable at the least."

"Right, but where is she?" Sybil was still searching for her other pistol.

"Don't mind me, I'm just collecting the children," Sarah's disembodied voice said. Aside, she added, "I wish  _I_ could have a taste of them, but that would be rather selfish—"

Sybil clambered to her feet, waving her single pistol about. "You're one to talk about selfishness," she interrupted. "Come out and fight me."

"Where is she?" Mary wondered aloud. "I can't see her. Is she employing some sort of cloaking device?"

Tom looked towards the stone circle, thinking that Sarah might be hiding amongst the standing rocks. At first, he thought that the green ring of light surrounding the hollowed-out stone in the centre must have been a trick of the light or his own head.

"There!" he cried, perhaps a little too loudly for his own safety. Several monsters turned their heads to watch him. "The stone circle!"

Mary and Sybil both raced first to the stone circle, but a pair of what were likely minotaurs, one cream-coloured and the other a dirty brown, stopped their path.

"Damn!" Mary cursed. "Where's my crossbow?"

"Here!" Matthew shouted. He plucked it from the ground and tossed it to Mary. She caught it lightly and, before the cream-coloured minotaur could take one step forward, she shot the bolt into its open mouth. It screamed like a bull, black blood pouring from its nose and mouth before it fell backwards to the ground, shaking the ground for a brief two seconds.

To the minotaur still standing, Sybil fired two shots, but the bullet's lodged themselves in the long brown hair. The minotaur, still nonplussed from waking up so abruptly, looked down at the two bullets sitting above his chest.

"The head! Shoot it in the head!" Mary yelled as she tried to reload her crossbow. The bolt she pulled from her quiver had snapped in half, but she placed it in the stock nonetheless.

Sybil fired again, this time higher, and the bullet flew straight into the minotaur's nose. It grunted, the pain making it more alert, and that gave Mary time to shoot the bolt between its eyes. Like its companion, it shrieked before hitting the ground with a shudder of the earth.

"Let's go!" Mary said to Sybil, and both of them entered the stone circle. Matthew and Tom raced after them, Tom picking his shotgun off the ground before entering the circle last. The monsters surrounding the stone circle charged for them, but they stopped short of the perimeter. An invisible barricade obstructed them, but the monsters with long claws raked at the air close to the stones, and something shivered in the air.

"What now?" Matthew asked.

"We hurry before the monsters break through the barrier or Sarah comes back with the kids," Mary said urgently.

"Well, where did she go? And on a side note, what is up with this glowing rock?" Sybil asked.

Tom stepped closer to inspect the glowing stone. The green light surrounding it twisted like fire, but when he tentatively passed his hand through it, it felt cool, although strangely slimy.

"It's the byproduct of her magic," Mary explained. "She's enchanted the stone."

"What did she do to it?" Tom asked, fingering the tendrils of the green matter.

"I don't know," Mary said, "but the rock – then entire stone circle, actually – has a magic all its own. It must be why the monsters cannot get through."

"At the rate they're going, it won't be long before the barrier breaks and we're dead," Matthew noted. The monsters were fighting against the unseen barricade, clawing and biting at it, and there was a cracking sound, like glass fracturing.

Sybil looked around anxiously. "What do we do? If she enchanted the stone, do we break it?"

"We can't do that. This stone is the centre of the formation's power. If we destroy it, the barrier will fail and that's the end of us," Mary advised.

Tom tried to remember what the book where he had read about this very circle said. Looking through the hole, he could see the Harthwaite church just beyond the hill. The stone was so tall that even he could climb through the hole borne through the middle.

"The stone has incredible power on the night of a full moon," Tom recalled. "If the moon can be seen in a straight line through one of these sorts of stones, then the stone channels the light or something and turns it into energy."

"We could use some of that power right now." Sybil looked up to the sky for the moon. "Is it a full moon tonight?"

"That was yesterday," Mary corrected.

"Oh, bloody hell," Sybil grumbled.

Tom, seized by an insane idea, pushed both hands against the surface of the stone. The ground underneath turned, and the entire stone rotated a slight degree.

"We can move the stone so the moon shines through the centre again," he cried out excitedly. The monsters around the circle snarled and snapped, and the cracking sound grew more frequent. "Hurry!" he yelled.

"C'mon, then," Matthew said to the girls, throwing his rifle to the ground and pushing alongside Tom. Mary and Sybil rushed to the other side and pressed against the stone as well. The adrenaline streaming through everyone was enough to give them strength to shift a giant rock. The ground where the stone had sat for millennia seemed to groan, while the stone itself was humming as if it disagreed with being handled. It shifted, albeit gratingly slow, but being turned a few degrees clockwise was enough for the moon to shine through the hole.

The stone thrummed, intemperate, and a streak of lighting crashing down from the sky and striking the top threw each person backwards. At the same exact moment, the barrier blockading the riled monsters cracked open, and when a single small harpy poked its beak through the hole, the entire barrier failed. The monsters unlucky enough to not make it within the stone circle before the lightning struck were catapulted backwards into the forest. Some disintegrated into ash while still flying through the air.

"What the hell?" Tom shrieked.

The green light that had surrounded the stone before radiated outward and extinguished itself with a burst. The surviving monsters stumbled, and a green aura formulated around them before vanishing just as the light had.

"Her spell is gone," Mary breathed. "Whatever control she had over the monsters, she doesn't have it anymore."

"I don't think they'll be quite willing to let us go on our way," Matthew hinted. The creatures were coming back to their senses, and their eyes narrowed onto the humans nearby.

Tom jumped to his feet. "I see we're still going to have to go about this the bloody way." Matthew's rifle lay next to him, and he tossed the weapon in the air. "Let's give it our all."

Matthew caught his weapon. "Try to avoid being bitten by anything nasty."

"I think you are in need of that advice more than I."

"Ha ha."

Mary and Sybil stood alongside Matthew and Tom. "We're ready," Sybil said, with an inkling of excitement in her voice.

"Good," Tom said, smiling at her.

The harpy that had broken through the barrier lunged first at Sybil, screeching madly, but Tom lodged the butt of his shotgun between its beak. The harpy let out three shrill shrieks before Sybil wrenched her two-inch wide knife from its sheath and sliced through its neck. A similar being, one with the wings of a crow and whose guttural caws were almost human words, thrust its beak close to Tom's eyes, but Sybil swiped at it again and again until she clipped one of its wings. It collapsed to the ground where it writhed beside the harpy, its other wing moulting completely, rendering it incapable of flight.

Tom was about to commend Sybil's prowess in battle, but from behind a wulver, a man with the head of a wolf, leapt over his head and landed on its hind legs. Tom successfully blocked the first few attacks with his shotgun, waiting until he had a sure chance to whack at its muscular arms. The wulver snapped its jaws together, nearly catching the shotgun between its teeth, and as it drew back for another attack it raised its arm for another swipe at Tom. That was its fatal mistake: Sybil was one step ahead of it, jabbing the knife into its shoulder blade. It did not have a chance to howl before the blood spilled out of its arm and it lost its balance, scrabbling against the ground to get away, which was its second mistake. The thing bled out before it got three feet away from its killers.

"Wow!" Sybil said breathlessly. "This is actually fun."

"You call this fun?" Mary called over her shoulder.

She and Matthew were squaring off against a sphinx, her lioness body pinched from lack of nourishment. Her human face almost resembled Mary's, save for the carnivore teeth and slitted amber eyes.

"Good God," Matthew exhaled. "Who was the idiot that imprisoned a sphinx? They're bad enough on a normal day, but when they're hungry they're grumpier than Tom when he goes a week without a beer."

"I heard that!" Tom shouted, shooting at a winged creature that was flying too high up for him to discern was it was.

Mary level her crossbow at the sphinx, who hissed and flicked its tail. "I don't like you very much," she said acidly before releasing the trigger. The bolt ingrained itself above the sphinx's left eye, but though its pain was obvious from the way it roared and hawked, it showed little sign of weakening.

"These are hell to kill," Matthew said. "When Tom and I went up against one, we were inside a town hall, and we managed to bring the entire building down on top of it, and even then we had to shoot at it until—"

"Stop talking and tell me how to kill it quick!" Mary cried. Her free hand moved and produced a kukri knife, which she held in a defensive position. "Don't tell me we have to answer a riddle."

"Just try to attack its heart, but avoid its claws," Matthew warned.

The sphinx stamped her paws on the ground several times before rearing up, and Matthew was quick to shoot at her. The bullet holes were to the left of the heart and just above it. Matthew shot at her again, this time at its eyes, and that gave Mary time to leap forward, shear the great knife across her furry breast, and jump back. Blood spilled like a waterfall from her chest, and she slumped to her side, mewling in pain like a wretched wild cat. Matthew darted forward, focused his rifle to her heart, and fired several times. He jumped back as gore poured forth and the beast screamed shortly before her limbs became stone.

The creature that Tom had been shooting at spun in the air towards him, and Matthew and Mary directed their weapons at it. The wooden stake from Mary's crossbow aimed true, and speared the creature's wing. It slumped against an upright stone, its bat-like wings spread out on either side of its skeletal body. The childlike face contorted in agony as it struggled to take to the air again. Both Sybil and Mary bound towards it, but Mary reached it first, the kukri knife plunging deep into the heart. The bat-like thing inhaled sharply before disintegrating into fine tendrils of dust.

"A vetala. A vampire from the Indian subcontinent." Mary shook the dust from her knife as she spoke.

"What the hell is an Indian vampire doing in Cornwall?" Tom exclaimed.

"Let's ask someone when we're done with all of this," Matthew said pointedly. He spun around to ram the barrel of his rifle into throat of an eagle-headed man. Sybil finished it off with a single pistol shot to its brain.

"Is that it? Is it the last one?" she asked.

"No," Mary said, dread creeping into her voice. "There's that..." She raised a finger to point at a large wolf-like creature, bigger in size than the four of them combined and regarding each hunter with one of four red eyes. Its fur was so black that it had been invisible to them until now.

"Oh my God," Mary muttered. "Someone hurry up and kill it."

The huge beast opened its mouth, and if anyone had the time to count, they would have tallied three rows of tiny sharp teeth, with fifty teeth in each row. When sound came from its mouth, it was closer to a human's speech than a dog's bark.

"Go," it said in a deep tone. "Go and kill the witch that has brought anguish upon my homeland."

It turned, swinging its bushy tail back and forth lazily, and slunk away towards the forest.

Mary released the breath she had evidently been holding. "What – what was that thing?"

"It didn't want to fight," Matthew comprehended. "It has at least some sense of reason."

"Then let it be," Tom said. "Not all supernatural beings are bloodthirsty."

"But there's still one to be taken care of," Sybil said. "Where is she?"

No sooner than her words had been spoken when the middle stone sputtered and throbbed. Short tendrils of lightning emanated from the dark rock, and the air turned sour.

"What's happening to it?" Sybil squinted at the rock. "I think something is wrong with it."

As if in response, each stone in the formation began to shake and moan, the sound scraping against the air.

"Get away from it, quick!" Tom cried. He pushed Sybil away from the middle stone, which was pulsing with broken energy.

"The monsters are all gone. Why is it acting this way?" Sybil whirled around, and when she rested her sight on the hill beyond she froze, anger seeping into her curled fists. The rest turned to follow her gaze.

Sarah Bunting was standing twenty feet away from the stone circle – but her face was even more demonic than before. Her stoney skin was lined everywhere with crow's feet. Her hair had grown longer, but it was coloured a dirty grey-green, and parts of it had fallen off of her head, leaving her with some bald patches. Each nail on her hand was now a four-inch curved talon. She was hunched over, her arms hanging mantis-like in front of her. In each of her skeletal hands she held a length of rope, and that rope curled around the necks of two young children, a boy with wiry blond hair and a smaller girl with a doll-like face.

Sybil aimed her gun towards Sarah and stalked towards her. "Let them go. The monsters are gone."

Sarah regarded Sybil coldly with her jet-black eyes. "You little chit," she spat with her black tongue. Her voice rose with volcanic anger. "After all I've done, all that I have worked for to feed myself, and you somehow managed to destroy each and every beast that Harthwaite had hidden?"

"Well, one walked away," Matthew shrugged.

Sarah's head quirked to the side. "Really? Which one?" She was genuinely perplexed.

"Giant black wolf. About three metres high. Four red eyes. Lots of teeth," Matthew described.

Sarah frowned. "I don't remember reviving that one."

"Oh. That's bizarre."

"But the others? You puny humans couldn't possibly have killed them all?"

"We didn't kill  _all_  of them," Tom said. "The stones did most of the work."

"That's impossible," Sarah sneered. "The stones only have that sort of power on the night of a full moon – that was last night."

"Well, the good thing about rocks is that they are really easy to trick," Matthew grinned.

Sarah glared.

"The point is, the game is finished, and you've lost," Tom said. "So let the kids go."

"Never," hissed Sarah. "Witches don't give up easy." She jerked the rope looped around the little girl's neck; the girl emitted a pitiful cry and pinched her already tear-streaked face. "If I can't go about things the fun, inventive way, then I'll just have to go about them the stereotypical, storybook fashion. Anyway, children  _do_  taste quite good in pies."

"Enough!" barked Sybil. She lunged forward, almost stumbling the rest of the way to Sarah.

"Sybil, watch out!" Mary screamed.

Her shout came too late; Sybil had already pulled the trigger on her pistol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Most other creatures in this fic are based off of actual mythology, but the four-eyed wolf is one of my own creations – I discovered it recently amongst my old creepy drawings. I was very "imaginative" as a child.
> 
> Is it weird just how much the story has expanded since the first chapter? I dunno if I'm getting ahead of myself. Totally trying to bring it all full circle.


	5. A Parting of Ways

Tom reeled back from the sheer force of the sound of the shot. His ears rang out as if he had been standing under a clanging church bell. Stars danced in front of his eyes.  _Feck, why do I keep keeling over?_  he asked himself.

He primed himself to begin running again, flipping open the butterfly knife he had stashed in his jacket pocket. It wasn't the best close range weapon he had on him, but it was the first one he reached for, and he could not afford to waste any time. He pushed off with stinging feet, but he only managed a few hurried strides before the scene in front of him unfolded and he clearly realized what had happened.

Sybil was still standing, her arms stiffly extended in front of her. The weapon in her hands was smoking with an astringent gunmetal cloud.

And cringing on the ground, slowly inching away from her, was Sarah. A hole the size of a penny was carved in the middle from her forehead, and as her black blood oozed out the skin around the wound began to harden and ossify.

"No!" Sarah screeched, but the petrification was spreading close to her mouth. "No, no, no, no!" she shrieked over and over again, until her jaw could not open again. She outstretched a curved clawed hand, but within half a second the entire limb was rock-hard. The other arm shuddered as the joints tried to bend, breaking as the skin turned brittle and leaden. Her fingers tightened around the rope in her palms, but the moment they turned to stone they split away, dust spilling into the air. Her legs stiffened, cracking and splitting, nearly severing the right one at the knee.

Tom was so repulsed by the scene he felt like screaming. "What's happening to her?"

"What do you think happens when you get shot in the head?" Matthew nearly spat.

Sarah's black blood was pooling out of the crevice that was her mouth. Her jet black eyes were the last to fossilize, after which she was entirely a statue, horrified, malformed – yet there remained some semblance of consciousness within the weathered rock.

And then, as if a bolt of lightning had come down from the heavens, the statue exploded with a blast, a fiery explosion sending Sybil flying backwards and into Tom's arms. The shock wave shook every blade of grass in the field and incinerated the patch of ground where Sarah had been lying. The rope around the children's necks disintegrated into coarse thin strands, and as fast as they could the aghast children scrambled away from the burning grass.

When the shell-shocked hunters came to, the only vestige of evidence remaining of Sarah Bunting's existence was the lead bullet at rest on the charred earth.

* * *

"Well, that was one adventure I  _do not_  want to repeat," Matthew said, though in truth he was only a little piqued at nearly dying. "And Tom – I still blame you." He jabbed his partner in the chest.

"Hey, enough! I promise, no more anonymous tips." Tom rubbed his hand over a scrape on his arm, where the sleeve of his jacket was frayed. "I'm sorry about getting you into that mess."

Matthew gently clapped a hand on Tom's shoulder. "You don't have to apologize for anything. Just exercise caution next time – a lot of caution, mind you. Caution being 'stop smacking into evil witches and going all—'"

"Alright, I get the message!" Tom reached around to smack Matthew in the back of the head, but Matthew dodged it effortlessly.

"I wonder if they're always like this," Mary muttered to Sybil. She believed she was far enough away to avoid detection, but Matthew turned around and grinned. "No, we're usually worse."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Is your car much farther? It's dark, we don't have torches, and Sybil is acting nanny to two kids. If we're lost—!"

"Mary, give it a rest," Sybil shushed. "I don't mind this at all."

She was carrying the little girl on her back, and the little boy was clinging to her hand (arm, really) as if it were a lifeline. Both were weary-eyed and overtly disquieted, but apart from loudly growling stomachs they did not appear to be too off colour.

"The car is just up ahead, but if you recall," Tom said, "the battery has been drained."

Mary groaned.

"We can get some warmer clothes from the boot for the kids, but we will have to walk the rest of the way," Matthew said. "Don't worry – it's only a few miles back to town."

Mary groaned.

"C'mon, Mary, we can use this time for some family bonding," Sybil smiled jokingly. "Like the days when we used to drag Edith around."

Mary groaned.

The car lay dormant on the path just a few feet ahead. Tom wondered how long it would be before they got power in the battery and they could drive away from this wretched place. He dug the key into the lock in the back and began to dig around for suitable garments for the kids. Every piece of clothing was decidedly too big for the tiny kids, but something was better than —

"What is  _that_  down there?" Sybil said.

Tom started, reaching around for his butterfly knife, but quickly realized that Sybil, and soon the others, were looking at something between the grass by Sybil's feet.

"What – what are we looking at?" asked a confused Tom. He couldn't see anything in the dirt, especially since it was dark.

"I'm stepping in it," Sybil said. "I felt my foot dip a little and I nearly stumbled. But it feels really  _warm_ underneath my foot."

Tom ducked his head back into the car, thrusting his hand in any bag he could locate. He pulled out a small matchbox, within remaining only three matches. He struck one against the side of the box and held the small light close to Sybil's foot.

"It's just a hole," Mary said.

"No – it's a track," Tom corrected. "Look, you can see the different shapes." He moved the matchstick around. The radius was about a foot wide.

"It's way too big to be anything," Mary said. "But …" She peered closer. "It's like a paw print."

Soundlessly, each person began to come to the realization that the print had been made by—

"That huge wolf," Sybil said.

Then, as if there were some bizarre power within the words she had spoken aloud, one of the headlamps ignited and surrounded the car in a shower of sparks. The lights glared, the horn screeched, and the engine roared as the power in the battery was abruptly restored. With a splenetic caterwaul, the car literally jumped two inches into the air, the loose parts rattling. The light of torches, lying inside, flamed through the windows. Something beeped on Mary's belt. The two children let out short, unabated howls when the noises started, but they were quick to fall silent when the car did.

"Well!" Matthew said, clearly fascinated. "That's quite a way to jump-start a car."

Tom slapped Matthew upside the head.

"What did that?" asked Mary hoarsely. She whipped her head around, thinking she might catch a glimpse of the wolf-like creature.

No one would be able to see it, even though it was watching them proudly through the thick forest, each red eye blinking contently.

"So, I'm guessing you ladies would like a ride back to town—?" Tom began.

"Yes! Get us back to actual people!" Mary cried.

"Mary, you aren't usually like this," Sybil said, stifling a laugh. "Honestly, what is with you?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm  _still_  sort of shaken up by the fact that  _we-nearly-got-killed-by-a-psycho-witch-and-a-bunch-of-monsters_ ," Mary shouted incredulously. "And I thought it was just going to be a matter of looking for a couple of kids, but no! We had to fight a horde of angry demons!"

The two children were not even trying to cover their giggles.

"Okay, now." Tom clapped his hands together. "Sybil, get in the back with the kids, and make sure they warm up a bit. Mary, you can get in the passenger seat. And Matthew, get in the boot."

Matthew coughed. "Excuse me?"

"It's for that little stunt you pulled earlier in the church," Tom said, glaring.

Matthew gaped at him. "Oh, so now you force me into the boot like some sort of hostage? All for a little brotherly prank?"

"I'll leave the door open so you won't suffocate."

"Right, because you don't want me to keel over from the smell of onions as well."

* * *

The half-dead village of Harthwaite seemed to gain half a degree of liveliness as the children were returned to their families. Somehow the news traveled faster than if it had been announced on social media, and when the mothers and fathers clutched the little boy and girl and left the police station, the door was surrounded by a throng of clapping and smiling people. Tom and Matthew decided to stay behind with the inspectors and explain how they had found the children, with a fabricated story: they discovered the girl's jumper lying on the road into the forest and walked a short distance before they found the children huddled, numb with cold and without a decent meal for a day, in a ruined stone house within the woods. Tom mentioned that it did look like the children had been kidnapped, but they did not wait around for the kidnapper to come back and demand an explanation. The inspectors dutifully thanked them and handed them a cheque with a reasonable sum.

No one, however, offered up any explanation as to why one of the schoolteachers had mysteriously vanished. Not that many of the student complained when they found out the next morning.

So exhausted that just taking steps felt like electric shocks, the two men headed back to the inn they had checked into the previous night. But just before he followed Matthew upstairs, Tom rang the bell on the counter. Anna Bates answered his call; she too was aware of his heroic deed and greeted him with a pleasing smile.

"Sorry if this sounds ridiculous, but are there two girls staying here? One's name is Sybil, and she's with her—"

Anna was shaking her head. "They stopped here asking if they could park their car here as they got something to eat. This was just before those two little children and their parents came out of the police station. They left about ten minutes ago."

Crestfallen, but trying his best to hide it, Tom nodded and went upstairs.

* * *

The next cloudy morning, after seeking a light breakfast, Matthew and Tom packed up their bags and guided the car out of the village. Matthew knew exactly the reason why Tom lacked his usual energy, even without having to ask him. He similarly was disappointed in not being able to say good-bye to Mary.

"D'you think we'll ever see them again?" Tom asked, once the last stone house was behind them.

Matthew shrugged diffidently. "Maybe. If there are supernatural beings, then it's likely."

"They were good fighters," Tom said blankly.

"You thought Sybil was cute too," Matthew added.

Tom burned at the cheeks. "Well … you were looking at Mary constantly too."

Matthew shrugged again. "Sure, but — you know, mate? It's better to let life go its course. If we're destined to meet again, then we will. Let's not spend our time chasing down girls. Monsters are easier."

Tom gave a half-hearted smile.

They were coming close to the church where all the trouble had first began. In the early sunlight, it still seemed bloody old, but whatever arcane aura had been there before had evaporated.

"The monsters in there are all gone," Tom said aloud. He eased the car to a stop and looked up the hill, past the yard and at the stout stone tower. "The people are free of the danger that they did not even realize they were in."

"Well..." Matthew drifted off.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "How do you mean 'well?'"

Matthew sighed. "Well … when you were taking a shower earlier, I went to talk to Mr Bates to pay the bill. And I asked him about any sorts of legends within Harthwaite. Sarah Bunting did mention that the monsters _were_  put there in the crypts as prisoners. So, I asked, and he said that during the fifteen- or sixteen-hundreds people thought there were wild beasts gathering in the forests around, but they had a hard time killing them. Some magician or something used the stone circle to trap the beasts under the church. But obviously there aren't any records of it actually happening, so it is just a legend now."

Tom thought, and then laughed. "So did no one wonder what was in those tombs? Did no one bother to check?"

"Nothing good comes from disturbing the dead," Matthew said. "We learned that the hard way in Highgate."

"Sure," Tom nodded. "But did Mr Bates mention anything about the giant wolf we saw?"

Matthew thought back. "I asked, and he said there was an older myth, probably a Celtic one, about giant wolves who were guardians of the hills and the forests. But he didn't say much else."

Tom remembered how the wolf had spoken to them, pleading with them to destroy the witch in his homeland. Even though there was less information on that creature, he was glad that they had carried out his cry for help.

"You know, this country is so full of magic," Tom said, not exactly to Matthew, but more to himself. "There are so many strange things out there. I wish I could see them all."

Both were silent, contemplating for a very long moment. It seemed to be the first time in a few days that they were able to breathe easy.

"So that little episode is all finished," Matthew said with relief. "The wicked witch is dead, the children are safe, and the heroes are still in one piece."

"And I originally thought we were just going to get pictures," Tom said in disbelief. "We didn't even get one."

"That can be arranged." Matthew reached into a bag behind him, pulled out Tom's camera, and waved it in the air. "Snapshot time?"

"Why not?" Tom grinned.

They got out of the car, made the stone church the backdrop, and with a bit of manoeuvring, got a decent picture.

"Now, where to?" Matthew asked.

"Wherever there's an adventure, of course," Tom answered.

He pressed his foot to the gas, and they left the peaceful Harthwaite behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope I managed to tie up the loose ends and such. This story just spiraled out of control, and it is way longer than I anticipated, but it was so damn fun. Monster fighting ... *sigh*
> 
> I took a lot of inspiration from The Secrets of the Immortal Nicolas Flamel (the book series which managed to make me cry about as much as Harry Potter 7) and of course a bit of Supernatural, which I have begun to watch at a steady pace. I listened to a lot of Two Steps from Hell while writing the action sequences, something which my ears will pay for later in life.
> 
> Thanks to my fanfic comrade yankeecountess for dishing out the Matthew/Tom bromance day. I'm glad I'm not the only one who misses the lovely platonic relationship between the two of them.


End file.
